


Snow

by Schist



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Animal Death, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Plotty, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-01 10:30:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17865602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schist/pseuds/Schist
Summary: In the height of the Klondike gold rush, Alfie finds himself quite content travelling alone through the wilderness. Then one night someone shows up in his camp.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s snowing. Alfie sits outside his tent by his fading fire, coffee cup in hand, thinking he should go inside but can’t quite bring himself to move yet. He’ll have to soon, or he’ll get too cold, but for a few moments longer he can sit and watch the snow. It’s a peaceful night. There’s no wind, and big soft snowflakes are falling from the sky as if someone up there is determined to cover everything in sight with a thick soft blanket. Alfie wonders and glances up at the sky. He gets snow in his eyes and looks back down again. What’s to hide down here? He chuckles to himself. What’s  _ not _ to hide? Fucking pathetic, men fighting so hard to make their way through the wilderness when they should have the sense to stay at home. And he’s one of them. Well, what can you do? Here he is. 

The silence is absolute. All around him is darkness, except for the circle of light from his fire, shrinking slowly into glowing embers. The snow is visible only in the light, making it look like he’s in a tiny world of his own, containing only his little camp and his dogs, surrounded by a dark void. He likes the feeling of isolation, but it also brings a hint of unease. Can he he sure that the world around him still exists? That  _ he  _ exists? Perhaps he’s lying in the snow in the dark, dreaming his last dying dreams before cold and hunger takes him? If that is the case, he might as well enjoy it. 

He sips his coffee - still warm - and sticks his hand into the thick fur of the dog lying next to him. Eddie is his favorite dog and the only one who is allowed to stay in his tent and sit with him by the fire. Sleigh dogs shouldn’t be treated as pets, is what everyone says. They are work animals. But he likes this one and it helps keep him warm. The other dogs are already asleep in their hollows in the snow. Alfie sits for a while longer thinking about nothing at all. His mind is as quiet as the snowfall. That’s what he likes most about this place - its silence is contagious. 

Finally he gets up and goes inside the tent, brushing snow off his clothes before entering and holding the flap up for Eddie. He takes his shoes and his coat off but keeps the rest of his clothes on and gets inside his bed of hides and blankets. 

“Come on, old boy” he says, and Eddie wriggles in next to him and lies down. Alfie pushes his fingers deep into the thick fur and closes his eyes. Just before he dozes off he hears the wolves start howling in the distance and his blood runs cold in the most pleasant way. What bliss, he thinks, to fall asleep to the sound of wolves. As long as they don’t come and fucking eat him. 

 

He wakes up to the sound of howling and barking, and at first he thinks it is the wolves, come to fucking eat him. Eddie is standing at the tent flap, barking. Alfie thrashes around in his blankets in panic, looking for his knife and his gun. The tent is pitch black and he can’t see a thing, so he also looks for his lamp. He finds neither and forces himself to calm down. Lamp first. He finds it, looks for matches and notices that his dogs are barking, but that’s all. No howling, no growling, no true sense of danger. Just the sound of alert - something is out there. He manages to light the lamp and pull his coat on, then finds the knife but not the gun. He must have left it in the sleigh, as the fucking idiot he is. 

“Stupid, stupid…” he mutters and struggles with his boots. “Shut up, you bastards! I fucking hear you!”

The dogs calm down at the sound of his voice, but now and then an excited bark slips out. Alfie stumbles out of the tent, thinking he needs to piss but that will have to wait. It’s dark outside, dawn nowhere in sight, and it’s still snowing. A lot. He can’t see his sleigh anymore, it’s just a heap of snow. His fire is gone, and the tent is half buried in snow. He will have to shovel it free before he goes back to bed, or he’ll be completely buried by morning. 

“All right, what’s the fucking noise about?” he asks and swings the lamp around to get a better look at the dogs. They stare at him expectantly, then all look in the same direction and start barking again. Alfie turns to look too, but of course he sees nothing but snow and darkness. He badly wants to piss and then go back to his warm bed - he’s tired and freezing - but he’s scared too. The dogs behave like they would if they heard people or other dogs, and he’s not sure he wants visitors. If whoever is coming is more desperate or better armed than he is, they can just take what they want and leave him to die. 

“Oy!” he yells into the darkness. “Who goes there?”

There’s no response, or at least none that he can hear. But after a little while he can hear barking in the distance. Not wolves. Dogs. It sets off his own dogs again. 

“Oy!” he shouts again, louder this time. “Who fucking goes there? I’m armed!”

He’s not really, unless you count his knife. He turns to the sleigh and starts shoving snow off it to try and find the pack where he’s almost sure his gun is. 

“Fucking idiot” he mumbles while he searches through stiff frozen canvas. He’s not wearing his mittens, and his fingers are starting to get painfully cold. His dogs are growling now, whatever is coming is close.  

“Keep your gun where you can reach it fucking quickly Alfie, you stupid cocksucking arsehole!” He can hear his voice rise with fear, going shrill and not the least intimidating.

He finds it, fingers closing over icy metal, just as a storm of noise and movement barges into his camp. At first there’s barking and spraying snow and it’s as if the little camp has been sucked into a barking, growling hurricane. Then there’s stillness. It’s so sudden it scares Alfie much more than the noise. Even his own dogs go quiet, watching the arrival in tense watchfulness. It’s a sleigh, one man and five dogs, and they’re all lying in the snow without moving. Alfie stares at them, wondering what to do. Are they dead? Did they use up their last breath coming here and then just died? He feels a moment of horror at the thought; a cold, nauseous fear of having his camp full of corpses (and ghosts?) before he realizes how ridiculous he’s being. 

He shoves the gun in his pocket and tends to the dogs first. He releases them from their harnesses and looks for a pulse under the thick fur. They’re not dead, but they’re starved and worn out. He can feel their bones clearly through the fur when he examines them. 

“What have you been through, poor darlings?” he asks gently. He wishes he had fresh meat for them, but all he’s got is frozen fish. He glances at the man lying in the snow, new snow already starting to cover him, but decides to feed the dogs before seeing to him. Whoever treats his dogs like this deserves being covered in snow. 

“What did the bad man do to you” he mumbles as he looks for the bag of dog food in his sleigh. “Don’t worry, mates, I’m going to make it all better.”

He takes each dog a piece of frozen fish and waits for it to come around. One by one the dogs slowly start to move, struggle to their feet and then throw themselves over the food. Alfie watches them until they’re finished, to make sure there’s no fighting, and then turns to his human guest. 

The man is still lying face down where he fell. Alfie kneels beside him with his lamp and hesitates. What if he’s dead? He gives him a shove, and the man seems to move slightly. 

“Not dead, then” Alfie says. “At least not yet.”

He tries to turn him over, but he’s heavy and not helping. 

“Hey, mate. Time to get up. Come on now..”

He adds a little more force and manages to turn the man over on his back. His fur hat comes off and reveals a surprisingly pretty face with short dark hair and long eyelashes. The skin seems pale and his lips blue, though it’s hard to tell with just the kerosene lamp for light. He has snow on his cheeks and his eyelids flutter but don’t open.

“Hey, princess” Alfie says and slaps his cheek. 

The man gasps and opens his eyes, but doesn’t seem to register what he’s seeing. Alfie gasps too. The man’s eyes are big and light - blue? - and he’s prettier than any man has any business being. His eyes start to roll back in his head and close again, and Alfie leans closer and shakes him.

“No no, you need to be awake, okay? It’s too cold to sleep out here, you know? If you die on me I’ll feed you to the fucking dogs. I swear I will, what do I care? So up you go.”

The eyes open again, and blink against the snow falling in his face. 

“What’s your name?” Alfie asks. 

“T….t….” the man stutters. 

“T? Good enough. I’m Alfie. You’re freezing to death out here, mr T, and I ain’t got a fucking fire to warm you because it’s the middle of the fucking night and you caught me kind of unawares. You’d better come into the tent and we’ll see what we can do.”

“H….help?” T manages. 

“Yes, yes, what does it look like I’m doing? Tent’s over here. Can you crawl?”

T nods and slowly gets on his hands and knees with shaking limbs and a vacant, shell-shocked look on his face. Alfie needs to piss something terrible now but he’s too afraid to leave his guest in case he dies. He has to get him warm first. He tries to help T into the tent, more or less shoving him through the flap. He brushes the snow off him and makes him lie down. The tent is cold but at least there’s no snow in here. He piles furs and blankets on top of his guest. 

“There. Nice and snug. Eddie! Get in here and warm him up.”

Eddie hesitates, but Alfie points at the stranger in the bed, and the dog reluctantly obeys. T doesn’t seem to register what happens, he just lies there still with his eyes closed and could be dead, asleep or listening intently for all Alfie knows. 

“Don’t die in my bed, all right?” he says. “I’m just going out for a piss. I’m taking the lamp, but I’ll be right back. You just get warm and… whatever.”

He heads back out into the snow. The dogs are still up, his and T’s dogs staring at each other, growling half-heartedly. They’re going to have to decide on a new pack order, but they’re all too tired. 

“Go to bed, idiots” Alfie tells them and pushes his way through the snow to just behind the sleigh where he fumbles with his layers of trousers and long underwear. 

“Oh God” he mumbles at the intense relief and closes his eyes. 

 

When he gets back inside the tent he finds himself looking at the stranger in his bed, with his dog, and wonders what to do. There’s only one bed, and if the choice is between pushing mr T out and having him freeze to death, or spending the rest of the night out of bed himself, he doesn’t know what’s worse. Of course, there’s a third option, but the thought of crawling into bed with this handsome stranger is almost as frightening as the other two options. The man could be mad, for all Alfie knows. Or if he wasn’t already, he might wake up with Alfie’s erection pressing into his back and  _ become  _ mad. Considering how long it’s been since he last got laid that is a risk one should not underestimate. 

Still, it’s bitterly cold, and mr T has his blankets and his dog so there’s only one thing to do. He struggles with the covers to try and make sure they cover them both, but finally he finds a position that’s more or less comfortable although he’s pressed too close to a strange man to be entirely all right with it. The man smells of unwashed body just like himself, and it’s unpleasant and sort of sexy at the same time. Alfie realizes how long it’s been since he smelled anything other than dog and snow. But when he finally comes to rest the peace returns. He turns the lamp out and lies still, listening to the silence and the breathing of Eddie and Mr T. Things might turn out all right, unless of course his guest dies during the night or turns out to be a homicidal maniac. 


	2. Chapter 2

Alfie wakes up with a feeling of alarm, but can’t understand why. He looks around. It’s too quiet. He dreamed of barking dogs, but wakes up blanketed in silence. Eddie is nowhere in sight. 

The tent looks wrong. It’s dark and cramped except for bright daylight peeking in through a gap where the flap should have been carefully closed against the icy wind. Two insights hit him at once: his tent is covered in snow, and someone’s been in or out since he went to sleep because he would never be that sloppy about closing the flap. 

He gets to his hands and feet and scramble out of the tent in a hurry when he suddenly remembers his nightly visitor. The morning light and fresh air hits him and he feels disoriented when he looks around the empty camp. His sleigh is still there, but the snow has been brushed off and there are things missing. There’s not a dog anywhere in sight, and it’s easy to see the tracks of mr T:s sleigh and the dogs heading away along the river across the otherwise unbroken expanse of snow. Alfie stares at it, unable at first to take in what has happened. 

“He stole my fucking dogs!” he says when it finally sinks in. “The fucking bastard! He took Eddie!”

A thought turned to icy fear has him rummaging through the sleigh, only to confirm what he suspected: His food supply, as well as all the dog food, is gone. He has his clothes, kitchen stuff and other equipment, as well as the gun in his pocket, but no food and no one to pull his sleigh. 

“Fuck!” he yells and kicks the useless sleigh. 

He succumbs to panicked anxiety for a moment, wondering if he’s going to die out here, but soon manages to pull himself together. There’s only one thing to do unless he wants to stay and starve to death in his camp, and he fucking does not. He gets his snowshoes out (at least the bastard left them but he stole all his ammunition the fucking cunt) and packs as light as he can (what’s to carry when the food is gone?), leaves the tent and sleigh and sets out in pursuit. 

 

He doesn’t know how much of a lead the treacherous bastard has got, but half his dog team is exhausted and underfed, and he’s in even worse shape himself. It’s surprising mr T can keep himself upright, let alone steal a team of dogs under Alfie’s nose, he has to give him that much. But he does have a team of dogs while Alfie has to walk. As he trudges along his mind fills with dark images of what he wants to do to the ungrateful asshole when he catches up with him, while cursing himself for being such a gentleman. What a fucking idiot he is, saving that bastard’s life. He should have left him to freeze and then he could be a treacherous fucking icicle and bother no one. 

Half the day goes by with nothing but snow and cold and bitter loneliness. He’s grateful that it’s stopped snowing so he can see T:s tracks clearly, but apart from that he’s furious. Most of all he’s angry about Eddie. A man has one friend. One! What fucking monster goes ahead and steals that one friend? He wants to put his fingers around T:s throat and squeeze until he dies in agony, and that anger sustains him through his exhausting trek. He doesn’t consider himself a violent man, and fact is it’s been a long time since he had to hurt anyone, but he’s not one to shy away from what needs to be done. 

Around midday the steady tracks from paws and the sleigh start to change. Hardly noticeable at first, but then more distinct. The sleigh looks like it’s been swerving, off balance, perhaps stopped several times. The paw prints are all over the place, no longer in a neat line between the skids. After a while Alfie stops and looks at the snow where the sleigh tracks are broken by some sort of commotion, as if the sleigh has tipped over. There are big deep holes in the snow, perhaps by a man struggling to right it again, and paw prints from dogs milling around instead of waiting patiently for the trip to continue. Alfie smiles and struggles on. Clearly mr T is having trouble, and that is wonderfully satisfying. As he keeps up the pursuit, the tracks continue to look messy and troubled. Alfie is torn between hope and fear. Trouble means he could soon catch up with them, but in what shape will he find his dogs? His fears are confirmed a little later when he finds a dead dog in the snow. It’s not one of his, so it has to be one of T’s, but it’s bad enough. A man who would risk killing a dog rather than stop and rest is not a man who should ever be let near animals of any kind. Alfie is tired, hungry and thirsty, and the bright daylight on the neverending snow is giving him a headache, but he picks up the pace. He looks forward to killing T so much it burns his blood, urging him on. 

 

He catches up just as the sun is sinking and the sky turning pink, painting the snow in shades of blue and grey. They’re just a silhouette at first, then he can hear barking, and finally he can see them clearly enough to spot T and Eddie at least. He’s relieved to see that Eddie is all right. 

“Eddie!” he calls. “Here, boy!”

There’s silence as T and the dogs discover him, and then frantic barking. Of course Eddie will be strapped to the sleigh and unable to get loose. Alfie tries to move faster but his legs are so heavy from the long walk, and his head is swimming with fatigue and the lack of food. T tries to move faster too, but Alfie is still closing in. It’s almost dark when he finally catches up with them. The sleigh is standing still and several dogs are lying in the snow, but just as many bounce up and greet him with excited barks. T scrambles for a weapon, but his movements are slow and clumsy and he’s swaying on his feet. He gets his gun out and points it at Alfie with shaking hands just as Alfie throws himself over him. 

“What is fucking wrong with you?!” he yells and punches him in the face. 

It’s so satisfying to finally release his pent-up anger over the person who justly deserves it. There are no complicating factors here, just him and T and the empty wilderness. He can indulge in his revenge exactly as he likes. 

They roll in the snow, kicking, punching and swearing. Snow gets under his coat and starts to melt down his back, but he doesn’t care much now. He doesn’t know where the gun went, but it’s not in T’s hand anymore. T doesn’t say anything, just grunts and pants and tries to defend himself, but he’s weak and slow. Alfie delights in cursing, screaming and hitting. Suddenly T goes limp and lies still. His eyes are open and he seems conscious, but there’s no resistance left in him. Alfie gets to his feet and brushes the snow off his clothes. 

“Now I’m going to take my dogs and my food and leave you here to die” he spits at T. “Like you did to me. Have fun starving to death. Or maybe you’ll freeze first, if you’re lucky. Unless the wolves get you first.”

T says something that Alfie can’t hear. 

“What? Speak the fuck up!”

“Shoot me.”

Alfie looks at him. 

“No” he says, and it feels good to be the one who decides how the bastard dies. 

He looks around to see how much daylight he has left. It’s almost dark, and the wisest choice would be to camp here, but that will rob him of the satisfaction of leaving the asshole to a lonely death. If he struggles on another hour he will have to make camp in the dark. He suddenly realizes just how tired and hungry he is; it feels impossible to take even one more step before he’s had food and rest. And if he goes on, what will he do with T’s dogs? He’s not leaving  _ them  _ to die in the snow, they’ve done nothing wrong. 

He looks back down on T, still lying motionless in the snow. He’s so pale and thin he looks dead already, but his eyes are open, looking at Alfie. 

“What’s your name?” Alfie asks. 

“Thomas Shelby.” His voice is faint but calm and clear. 

“I saved your fucking life.”

Shelby looks away and nods. It’s good to see he has some shame in him at least. He sighs.. 

“There are people coming for me, to kill me” he says. “I had to go, and you would slow me down.”

Alfie laughs. 

“I caught up to you, on foot!” he says. 

“Yes, I...underestimated...how tired I was.”

Shelby closes his eyes. It would be the simplest thing in the world to kill him now. A bullet in the head, or stuff his mouth with snow and hold on until he drowns. Easy. 

Except it’s not. Alfie touches the gun in his pocket but doesn’t take it out. He doesn’t have the strength to go on tonight, and he can’t make camp while a man is dying in the snow right next to him. If he puts Shelby down out of mercy, he’ll have a corpse in his camp. All options are equally bad, and he doesn’t know what to do.

He postpones the problem, turning his back to the asshole in the snow and starts to look for dog food in the sleigh. One more of Shelby’s dogs has died, and is already partially eaten, but he feeds the others and then starts putting up the tent. It’s a different tent from the one he’s used to, but most tents are alike and he gets it up soon enough. Before he goes to find firewood he ties Shelby’s hands behind his back. Shelby has dozed off but comes to when Alfie starts pulling at his hands. 

“Just shoot me” he mumbles. 

“Shut the fuck up.”

“They’ll kill me when they catch up, and then they’ll kill you just for being around. If you kill me and hide the body they might let you live.”

Alfie wants to ask who  _ they  _ are, and what Shelby did to piss them off, but darkness if falling fast and he needs a fire  _ now _ .  

“How generous of you, mr Shelby” he says. “I’ll take your proposal under consideration.” He kicks Shelby in the ribs and heads into the forest with Eddie and the axe from Shelby’s sleigh, which, as so happens, is his sleigh now. 

 

When he comes back the dogs have dug their burrows in the snow and gone to bed. Shelby is lying still where Alfie left him, and Alfie can hear his teeth clatter with the cold. Alfie builds the fire, puts beans and coffee on to cook, mouth watering at the thought of food. He can’t wait for the beans, so he opens a can of fruit and puts it by the fire just long enough to thaw so he can eat it. Shelby slowly sits up and then watches him eat with dark, hungry eyes, but says nothing. 

“All right” Alfie says while he’s waiting for the beans to cook with a cup of wonderfully hot rich coffee in his hand. “Who’s chasing you, and why?”

Shelby says nothing, just sits there with chattering teeth. Alfie kicks him. 

“Talk!”

“C...c...cold” Shelby stutters. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake. And whose fucking fault is that?”

Alfie pours a second cup of coffee, squats in front of Shelby and feeds it to him. Shelby winces as the hot coffee pours into his mouth - and some of it down his chin - but he swallows eagerly. Alfie has a strange feeling, like a weakness in his stomach, from sitting so close. Even with his face bruised from the fight, the bastard is fucking beautiful. 

“More” he says when Alfie removes the empty cup. “Please.”

“Nope. Now it’s story time. If you tell me why we’re in this fucking mess, and I think you’re telling the truth, you can have some more coffee  _ and  _ some food as well.”

Shelby gives him a suspicious look, and Alfie wonders too why he’s offering to feed the asshole. He should save the food for himself. But something happens to him when he looks at Shelby’s pretty face. There’s something in his eyes, a look of intelligence and fierce pride, despite being nearly starved and frozen to death, that makes Alfie feel strangely drawn to him. 

Shelby nods and tries to wipe his chin on his shoulder. He scoots closer to the fire, and Alfie watches the light dance on his cheekbones and make fiery glints in his eyes. His nose and cheeks are dusted with freckles, which only seem to heighten his beauty. 

“I cheated some people in business” Shelby says, in a cool, level voice as if he’s well aware of the wrongs he might have done but will tolerate no judgement from anyone else. “I sold them things that didn’t belong to me, then bought a team of dogs to disguise as a golddigger and intended to move to a different town. They caught up with me in Blackwater, but I managed to get away. I was supposed to have stocked up on food there, but had to run for my life.”

He looks at Alfie as if daring him to say anything. Alfie accepts the challenge. 

“So you ran dry, decided to wear out your loyal, hard-working dogs to save your own hide, and then steal my food and dogs and leave me to die. That about sums it up, mate?”

Shelby doesn’t answer and his eyes are hard. He looks at the fire as if in deep thought. Then Alfie realizes he’s looking at the pot of beans. A pleasant smell of beans, grease and slowly softening jerky is spreading through the air. Shelby swallows hard.

“What’s the fucking point of avoiding the people with guns if you’re going to starve to death?” Alfie says. “Being shot must be a better fucking way to die, mate.”

Shelby shrugs, not taking his eyes off the food. 

“You do what you have to do” he says. 

Alfie nods. 

“That you do” he agrees. So what do I do with you now, mr Shelby?”

“I told you the truth.”

“Some of it, at least. Right, I think supper is ready.”

He takes the pot from the fire and pours bean stew in two battered tin bowls. Shelby is trying to control himself but his eyes are burning with hunger. 

“I’m going to untie your hands” Alfie says and sets the bowls down. If you make one wrong move I’ll tie you up again and let you starve. Is that understood?”

Shelby nods. Alfie moves closer and struggles with the knot holding his hands together. It comes loose, and before Alfie can hand over the bowl Shelby is already over it and gulping it down all at once before holding the bowl out for seconds. 

“Surely this is not the first time you’ve been hungry?” Alfie says and gives him a tired look before starting on his own food. “You know as well as I do that if you eat that fast you’re going to puke. Don’t you?”

Shelby doesn’t answer. The hand holding the bowl is shaking, and he is radiating desperation under a thin layer of dignity. Sure enough, his already pale face goes suddenly ashen, and he turns away just in time to be noisily sick in the snow. Then he turns back to Alfie and holds his bowl out again, his eyes hard and demanding while torn between shame and need. Even a proud man has to eat.

“You know mate” Alfie says and chuckles. “As vexing as it is that you just wasted a bowl of my food, I have to admit it’s very satisfying to see you begging like a fucking dog. If you’re a good dog I might almost forgive you for this morning, as well as give you a second helping.”

Shelby’s face turns hard with humiliation but he still doesn’t say anything and still holds his bowl out for Alfie to fill. 

“I’ll give you more” Alfie says. “But you have to promise me two things. First: eat fucking slowly. All right?”

Shelby nods.

“Second: this is the second time I save your life. I want to hear you say it, and swear that you’ll repay your debt to me.”

Shelby looks at him but still doesn’t say anything. Alfie fills his bowl but holds it out of reach. Shelby follows it with his eyes. 

“Say it.”

Shelby struggles as if the words are getting stuck in his throat, or maybe he’s just feeling faint. He puts one hand in the snow to steady himself and takes a deep breath. Alfie knows how painful it is to starve, and admires his self control. 

“This is the second time you save my life, and I swear to pay back my debt to you” he says finally, loud and clear, back straight and head held high. 

“And I’ll eat fucking slowly” Alfie adds. 

A hint of a smile on Shelby’s hard face. 

“And I’ll eat fucking slowly” he repeats. 

Alfie gives him the bowl, and as he watches him fight the urge to eat too fast all the anger and resentment he felt during the day melts into pity. Perhaps he’d be less understanding if the bastard wasn’t so pretty, and strong, and proud. But he is, isn’t he? And he’s alive, thanks to Alfie. It suddenly occurs to Alfie that he very much wants him to stay that way. 


	3. Chapter 3

The next day he wakes up before dawn, as usual, and goes out to start the fire. The sky is clear and he looks up at the unbelievable multitude of stars. Then he scoots closer to the beginning fire to try and soak up some of its warmth. The dogs come out of their burrows to greet him and he pets them and chats with them. Shelby’s dogs look worn and skinny, but they’re on their feet and they seem better than they did last night. 

Shelby comes out of the tent about half an hour later, just as the porridge is ready. 

“Good morning mr Shelby” Alfie says. “Your timing is excellent; breakfast is ready.”

“Good morning, mr…” a quick look of confusion before he tries to cover up that he’s forgotten Alfie’s name. But who could blame him, after the chaos of their acquaintance so far. 

“Solomons” Alfie says with a grin. “But Alfie will do.”

“Alfie, then” Shelby says and sits down by the fire. “In that case, I suppose Tommy will do.”

He doesn’t smile, but the hard angles of his face soften slightly as he accepts a cup of coffee and then a bowl of porridge cooked with nuts and dried fruit.

They eat in silence, but it’s a tense, uncomfortable silence despite their newly established first name basis. 

“I’m on my way north” Alfie says at last. “If I’m bringing you, I need more food. We could make a detour to Robinson to stock up.”

Shelby.. No, Tommy, doesn’t answer at first, he just looks into the fire, the soft light dancing in his face. 

“You can drop me off in Robinson, if you don’t mind the extra distance” he says. “I can manage on my own from there. You’ll take the sleigh and all the dogs, of course.”

“Of course. Robinson it is, then.”

Robinson is to the northeast of where they are, which means they’ll have to leave the Yukon river at one of the tributaries a bit up ahead, and follow the smaller river through the woods to the little town. It shouldn’t be more than a day or two out of his way, and he’s going to need more food for all these dogs anyway. Besides, he wouldn’t mind sleeping in a house, for at least one night. Perhaps he might even have a bath. 

 

They pack the sleigh and set up the dogs. They leave just as the sky begins to brighten in the east. Tommy is sitting in the sleigh, still weak from his bout of starvation. Alfie walks behind and allows himself to enjoy the slow sunrise. The contrasts of light and darkness is what he likes the most about this part of the world. The sunlight bright on snow, the starlit blackness of night, suddenly broken by the northern lights, the blessing of dawn after a long night… That and the silence. He looks at Tommy in the sleigh in front of him and wonders what he’s thinking. 

The tranquility is interrupted sometime mid-afternoon by the sound of barking. They’ve recently turned away from the river and are heading upstream, still at least half a day from Robinson. The dogs slow down, trying to see where the noise comes from, and Alfie turns to look behind them. There’s a sleigh in the distance, just close enough to see three men with it, travelling fast and closing in. Alfie shrugs and turns back to his own sleigh, but the look on Tommy’s face makes him go cold. Tommy is looking at the approaching strangers as if his final hour has arrived. 

“It’s them?” Alfie asks. “Your friends?”

Tommy nods.

“We have to find some kind of cover. I don’t know if they’ve seen me yet, but as soon as they do, they’ll start shooting.”

Alfie looks around. They’re travelling on the frozen river with forest on their right and an open plain on the left. They could find shelter; trees to hide behind or a big rock, but they don’t have much time. He gets on the back of the sleigh, shouts to the dogs to turn right up the river bank and  into the forest and then speed up, well aware that they’re abandoning all hopes of getting away unnoticed. This is like putting up a great fucking sign to say we’re the assholes you’re looking for, please come and fucking shoot us, he mutters to himself, but then he’s too busy trying to control the dogs to have time to think. 

They rush through the forest, barely dodging trees on both sides. Alfie turns his head to look and sees that the other sleigh is still following them. He yells to the dogs to go faster still, and nearly falls off as the sleigh bounces off a tree and swerves dangerously before it finds its balance and continues. 

They go so fast he nearly misses the cabin. It’s small and unpainted, blending into the forest. Tommy sees it at the same time.

“House!” he yells and points. “House!”

“I see it!”

He gets the dogs to turn a sharp left up to the cabin. Thankfully the ground in front of it has been cleared and there’s enough space to run the sleigh all the way up and to the side. They get off the sleigh in a hurry and Alfie disconnects the dogs with shaking hands while Tommy grabs the ammunition box and their weapons from the sleigh and runs to the back door. It’s locked, but the wood has gone fragile from abandonment and his fourth attempt to kick it open has it flying up, exposing a tiny one room cabin that hasn’t been used in a while. They hurry inside, dogs and all, get the door shut and blocked with an old table, and run up to the only window, on the front of the house. The window is covered with a hide scraped thin enough to allow light through but only a very blurry image of what’s outside. A corner of it has come loose, and Tommy carefully pulls it open enough so they can see out. Their pursuers are just stopping their dogs about 30 meters away from the house, behind some trees, and there’s fierce activity. 

“Shit” Alfie says. “They’re preparing for war.”

“Yes.”

Alfie looks at Tommy, expecting panic, but Tommy’s face is intensely focused yet calm. This is not his first showdown. Great, Alfie thinks, fighting a sudden wave of exhaustion. He travels to the other side of the fucking world, to the most remote place he can find, at least in part to get  _ away  _ from gangsters. And what does he find? More fucking gangsters literally fall into his camp. 

He props the hunting rifle against the wall, makes sure his pistol is loaded, and puts the box of ammunition on the floor where it will be easy to reach.

“We’ll have to fortify the wall” he says. “They’ll shoot right through it.”

Tommy gives Alfie a surprised look, then nods. The only thing in the cabin, except for the table that’s blocking the door, is a crudely made wooden bed. They turn it on its side and prop it up against the wall under the window. It gives them no guarantee the bullets won’t go through it, but it’s better than just the wall. 

“If I die in here it’s your fucking fault” Alfie mutters and looks out the corner of the window. 

“Yes, it is” Tommy mutters back. 

“So, are we going to let them get more comfortable or are we going to fucking shoot them?” Alfie says, picks up the rifle and aims for one of the heads now sticking up behind their overturned sleigh. The only good thing about this stupid fucking situation is that they’re more exposed than he is.

He shoots, hits the man in the head and the head disappears behind the sleigh. Tommy looks at him with awe. Activity breaks out in the enemy camp again as everyone tries to hide behind trees. There’s silence for a moment, then a voice:

“We want Thomas Shelby! We have a warrant for his arrest. Hand him over peacefully and we’ll be on our way, no one else will be hurt!”

“The fuck they do” Tommy says. “They’re just as much crooks as I am, there’s no way they got the sheriff involved, and the marshals don’t care about little cons like that.”

“Why don’t you get the fuck out of here, and  _ then  _ no one gets hurt” Alfie shouts back. 

A shot comes through the wall close to his head and slams into the opposite wall. 

“Seems like they want to get hurt” Alfie says and tries to aim out the window again, but there’s no one in sight. 

 

They wait. It’s really fucking boring, and then it gets cold. He’s used to either moving all day, or sitting by a fire. The drafty little cabin is no warmer than sitting outside in the snow, so at least he can take comfort in his enemies being just as frozen as he is. He tries to keep his hands warm by sticking them in his armpits. That trigger finger needs to work when it’s time to use it. 

“I fucking hate stake-outs” he mutters.

Tommy looks at him. 

“How many have you been in?” he asks. 

“Not that many, but too many. This is awful, how do we fucking shoot them?”

Tommy glances out the window and shrugs. 

“You got us into this mess” Alfie says. “You can get us out.”

“How?”

“Think. You’re smart enough to con them, you should be smart enough to kill them.”

Tommy’s quiet for a while. Alfie watches him think, and his stomach lurches at the sight of his pretty face and his pretty eyes, lost in thought. Fuck. This is not the fucking time for feelings. 

“We attack” Tommy says at last. “Head on. We shoot everything we have at them from here, then when they’re wounded we run out and finish them off before they can get away.”

Alfie thinks about it. It’s a really really dumb plan, but he can’t think of a better one. At least something would happen and he wouldn’t have to sit here anymore and wonder if he will die of the cold or if boredom will finish him off first. But he didn’t make it this far by being a reckless idiot.

“We need back-up” he says. “How many guns do we have?”

“Four.”

Tommy has two revolvers, Alfie has one, and the hunting rifle. They’re all repeater guns which means they can shoot several bullets before needing to be reloaded. 

“All right. I’ll take the rifle, you take one of the revolvers” Alfie says. “We shoot them empty, and then we run out the door and attack from two sides with the revolvers. What if we run out of ammo before they’re all down? We won’t have time to reload.”

Tommy pulls a knife out of his boot, another from his belt and a third from inside his coat. 

“Shit” Alfie says. “I don’t like cutting people. It’s gross.”

“Gross?” Tommy says and raises one eyebrow while looking pointedly at Alfie’s stained and worn coat. “Afraid you’ll get blood on your lovely outfit?”

Alfie sighs. 

“I don’t like sticking knives in people” he says.

“Would you rather be shot?”

“Well, no. I could take the axe.”

“An axe is better than a knife?”

“Yes. It’s more… “ he swings a pretend axe to illustrate but he’s not sure what he’s illustrating. 

“...homicidal maniac?” Tommy fills in. 

“Better than a shady fuck with a knife.”

“Fine. We have a plan.”

And so they do. They go over the guns, make sure they’re loaded and in working order, then place the backup weapons where they’re easy to reach. They unblock the door as quietly as they can so they can run out quickly, and then take their place again by the window. Alfie carefully works the hide loose so they’ll be able to rip open a larger flap and get a good line of sight. Then they look at each other, the look of perfect understanding between two desperate fucking idiots about to either create a fantastic little massacre or get themselves killed. 

“On three” Tommy whispers as they crouch on either side of the window. “Aim for the sleigh, the bullets will go right through.”

“I know. Just get it over with.”

Tommy counts to three, they rip the skin off the window and shoot until their weapons are empty. Then they throw them on the floor, pick up their spare revolvers and sharp weapons, and head out the door before there’s time to think better of it. 

The enemy camp is in chaos just as they hoped, and at first they’re shooting at the cabin, unaware that their targets are already outside. Alfie gets halfway down to the sleigh and gets several shots fired before the men hiding behind it start firing in the right direction. He ducks behind a tree, shoots again, the gun clicks, empty, he shoves it in his pocket and runs up to the sleigh with the axe raised and a strange sound like a kind of war cry coming out of his mouth. But when he reaches it the fight is already over. Two men are lying on the ground, shot dead. The third one is still dying, lying close to Tommy. Tommy is holding his knife, blood dripping off it, and his eyes are full of something wild, crazy, animal. Alfie assumes he looks the same. They look at each other and time seems to stand still, the silence eerie and otherworldly after the gunfight. Then they both look around at the same time, as if expecting more enemies to appear out of the forest, but there’s nothing but quiet forest, slowly darkening with the onset of dusk. They look at each other again and laugh. 

“Well, how about that” Alfie says. “It worked.”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t think it would?”

“No” Tommy says, and his laugh transforms his face and makes Alfie’s stomach tickle. He would really really like to kiss him right this moment. “Did you?”

“No. But what else was there to do?”

“Right. Let’s check if they have anything useful.”

They go over the sleigh and their fallen enemies and take their guns, spare ammunition, food and dogs. Tommy finds a knife he likes, and Alfie a pair of mittens that are in better condition than his own. They carry it all back to the cabin, and take the dogs outside. 

“That’s a lot of dogs” Alfie says as he comes back inside after feeding them. 

Tommy has put the hide back in the window and got a fire started in the old fireplace. It’s only marginally warmer in the cabin so far, but the light makes it feel safe and homely. Outside is almost completely dark now. 

“You’ll make a nice profit in Robinson from the ones you don’t need.”

“Yeah.”

There’s silence, except for the crackling fire. Alfie still feels wired and jittery after the fight, still ready to kill to save himself while at the same time relieved and pleased that they made it. He paces around the tiny cabin, not sure what to do with himself. Tommy fidgets with the fire, poking at it and feeding it little sticks that it doesn’t need. 

“I guess we should stay the night here” Alfie says. “Nice to sleep in a house, if you can call it that.”

Tommy looks around with a look on his face as if the place smells bad, which it doesn’t. The man is used to better perhaps, but Alfie doesn’t think so. Despite the pride and grace in how he carries himself he has working class written all over him. It’s something barely visible that you can never hide or wash away. But perhaps he’s aspiring to rise above his station. He wouldn’t be the first. 

“It’s good enough for me” Alfie says as if making a point. “I’ll bring the bedding in, it’s almost dark.”

Tommy nods but doesn’t answer, so Alfie goes out to the sleigh again and gathers the furs and blankets. After carrying them inside he goes to the other sleigh and carefully roots through their bedding too. He can’t see any lice, so he takes them inside as well, puts it all on the floor and looks around again.

“There’s only one bed” he says, looking at the wooden frame they leaned against the wall to protect them from bullets. 

Tommy looks at it, then at Alfie. 

“Is it big enough for two?” he asks calmly. 

Alfie swallows. He wants to break eye contact, but he can’t. Despite the dim light in the cabin Tommy’s eyes seem to shine bright blue and hold him in place. He finds it difficult to breathe. Lying together in the tent was different, that was survival. This is choice. 

“I... I don’t know. I’ll have to have a look.”

Tommy nods and turns back to the fire. He puts some more wood on and then starts rummaging through their supplies in search of supper, seemingly calm as if they didn’t just talk about sharing a bed. Alfie takes a deep breath, tries to steady his shaking hands and goes to work righting the bed. It’s not a wide bed, but Alfie believes it was actually built for two, or it would have been even narrower. 

“It works if you don’t move around too much.”

“We’ll give it a try then” Tommy says without looking at him, busy opening a can of meat. 

“Right. Yeah.”

Alfie pushes the bed up against the wall and starts to arrange the furs and blankets. 


	4. Chapter 4

Alfie wakes up to a pale dawn light coming through the window. The fire from last night has gone out and the cabin is chilly, but not as cold as his tent usually is and the air is less stuffy. He moves a little and his body feels heavy and stiff. Sharing a bed with Tommy was warm, but it wasn’t the most restful fucking night he’s had. They both lay awake for a long time, Alfie listening to Tommy’s breathing in the pitch black silence of the cabin, noticing little movements, knowing he’s awake too but not knowing if he should say something. In a way it was lonelier than sleeping alone in a tent. He finally dozed off and slept, but not enough. He woke up at least once from Tommy making noises in his sleep. Nightmares? Who knows what the bastard’s been through to haunt him so? Alfie sure doesn’t, and that realization made it even more awkward to share a bed with him. They’ve fought together and saved each others’ lives, but that means nothing. Tommy has proved that he’ll go to any length to save himself, no matter who gets killed in the process. He could have given himself up to justice instead of risking Alfie’s life in a gunfight, but did he? Of course not. For a moment Alfie wanted to push the asshole out of bed, but instead he went back to sleep, ignoring the little whimpers of distress from his bedmate. Let him have his nightmares. Probably fucking earned them. 

Tommy is already up, re-lighting the fire. When he notices that Alfie is awake he looks at him, looking as bleary-eyed and tired as Alfie feels, but says nothing. 

“Good morning” Alfie says and sits up. 

“Good morning, Alfie.”

Alfie stays in bed for a little longer and watches Tommy build up the fire. Then he gets up and puts his clothes on over his underclothes so he can go outside for a piss and say good morning to the dogs. The air is icy cold after the damp and relative warmth inside, but it feels fresh and clean. He looks around, at the forest and the river beyond it. Behind the cabin the forest rises up on a hill, and next to the cabin door is a chopping block for wood and a rickety table. Alfie brushes the snow off the table and sees the tell-tale dark stains on it. It was put there for gutting fish and prey. It’s not a bad place, he thinks. He doesn’t want to live as a hermit, but if he did, this would be nice. It’s got all you need, including less than a day’s sleigh ride to Robinson. 

He goes back inside. The coffee kettle is on and is starting to spread a pleasant smell in the cabin. Much better than dog and unwashed man. 

“Will you make the porridge?” Tommy asks. 

“Yeah, why not. Like my porridge, do you?”

“It’s edible. Barely.”

Is that humor? A hint of a smile grazes Tommy’s face. Why can’t the bastard smile properly? Alfie starts on the porridge while Tommy sits on one of the two chairs and stares into space. 

“A penny for your thoughts, mate” Alfie says after a while. 

Tommy looks surprised. Perhaps he’s not the kind of man who gets asked that. Perhaps he spends his time plotting bloody murder and you don’t want to know. 

“I was thinking about who built this place and lived here, and where did they go?” Tommy says. 

“Yeah. I thought about that too.”

He takes the porridge from the fire and pours it in their bowls while Tommy pours the coffee. They eat in silence. 

“Do you mind if we stay here a day?” Alfie asks when they’re done. “I could do with some rest, and so could the dogs. I want to look over the sleigh and fix some of the harnesses. 

He can see the relief Tommy tries to pretend he doesn’t feel. He could do with some rest too. 

“We can stay” he says. “Have we got enough food?”

“Yeah. For several days.”

“Great. Do your repairs. I’m going to look over our friends’ sleigh again, see if they have any tobacco.”

“All right.”

 

It’s a surprisingly peaceful day. Alfie enjoys being able to spend time indoors and cooking on a stove. He inventories their food, including the whiskey Tommy’s found on the sleigh. Then he goes over the dogs one by one, treats bites and cuts and sore paws while deciding which ones to keep on his team. He’s going to make a nice profit on the ones he can sell, sleigh dogs are always in high demand. When the dogs are all set he starts on the harnesses, making sure they’re all whole and spends an hour greasing the leather to keep it from cracking. The sleigh gets a seeing to as well. He unpacks it, cleans it out, replaces a broken strap with one from the other sleigh, and then carefully packs it again. 

The only thing that bothers him about staying in the cabin is the bodies. He doesn’t like having them so close. Tommy notices. 

“They’re not going to rise up and bite you” he scoffs while they carry snow inside to melt into water and Alfie can’t help glancing at the frozen figures in the snow. 

“I don’t like bodies” Alfie mutters. “Bad omen having them around.”

“They’re just frozen meat.”

“They spread bad energy, mate.”

“What, like ghosts?”

They carry their buckets and skins inside the house and start packing snow into pots on the stove. 

“You’re not afraid of ghosts, are you?” Tommy asks. 

“You can joke, mate, but can you know for certain where their souls have gone? That they’re not still around and angry?”

Tommy does look a little uncomfortable at the thought, but does his best to hide it. 

“Superstition” he says. 

 

As the sun goes down they prepare for night. They build up the fire again until it’s bright and hot, warming the little cabin enough so that they can take their sweaters off and sit in their shirts. Alfie cooks dinner and they eat it while listening to the wolves howl in the distance.  

“So, were you in a street gang?” Alfie asks. “Mafia?”

“What?” Tommy looks up from his bowl. 

“Something made you really comfortable with violence.”

“I could ask you the same” Tommy says and looks almost offended. 

“Are you?”

They look at each other with cold calculation, wondering how much to tell, how big the risk is. 

“Is this where I tell you my life story?” Tommy asks with more than a hint of sarcasm. 

“If you want” Alfie says. 

Tommy smiles then - actually smiles. It makes him look like a different person. 

“I was in the war” he says and the smile dies. 

“Over here?” 

“Yeah. Seemed like a good idea. Career opportunity. I’m not even bloody American, what do I care about their conflicts. But perhaps I am by now.”

“I fought too” Alfie says. “I know. The things you see, and do..”

They look at each other in a moment of perfect understanding, then Tommy looks away. Their bowls are empty, and Alfie pours water in the pot again to heat dishwater. 

“Before that I was in a gang” Tommy says, surprising Alfie with the sudden voluntary information. “At home, in Birmingham. But things went wrong, and now… trying to find my footing again, I suppose.”

Alfie looks around the tiny cabin in the dark, empty wilderness. 

“How’s it working out so far?” he asks. 

Tommy laughs. Not a big laugh, more like a chuckle, but it makes Alfie’s heart and stomach tickle. He wants to make Tommy laugh again. Many times. 

“Well… the only people I know of who want to shoot me right now are dead, so there’s that” Tommy says. 

The wolves howl again, and now they sound closer. Alfie barely notices at first, but then the dogs start sounding restless outside the cabin door, growling and snapping at each other. Alfie and Tommy sit still and listen, but after a while the sound fades away and the dogs settle again. Tommy takes the bottle of whiskey out and pours some in a tin cup. He’s already had it out several times during the day, measuring out little sips to make it last. Alfie has seen it before, of course. Many men turn to drink for various reasons, and Alfie used to make a fine profit selling it to them. But he feels a little disappointed seeing the fierce, proud and beautiful Thomas Shelby nurse his drink like a child sucking on his thumb. 

“What brought you here of all places?” he asks. 

Tommy seems to have been deep in thought, and Alfie doesn’t think he’s going to answer at first. But then he says:

“Needed a fresh start after the war.”

“Did you get in trouble?” Alfie asks with a nod to the corpses out there in the dark. 

Tommy does his almost-smile, but then looks serious again and sips his drink. 

“No” he says. “No, I did well in the army. I could have stayed, but…”

For a moment there’s naked pain in his eyes. It’s so sudden, and open, and raw, that Alfie feels shocked, and then it’s gone. But it was enough for everything to make sense; the drinking, the violence, the nightmares and broody silences… All men in war see and do terrible things that stay with them for the rest of their lives. Some, like Alfie, learn to accept it and move on, while others are broken beyond repair even though they might get good at hiding it. Alfie feels a wave of sympathy and tries not to let it show on his face. 

“Yeah” he says. “I know. But how did you end up this far north?”

Tommy shrugs. 

“I used to have all these plans” he says. “I would go to America until things calmed down, and then go back home. But I stayed, and got started on some business, got in trouble with the locals, went to the army… then I was going to start over, set up business as a bookie again, advance and grow. But…”

“...you drifted?” 

Tommy looks surprised. 

“It’s easy to do that here” Alfie says. “You see, at home you’re held in place by family, friends, connections, traditions and all of your past, you know? For better or fucking worse. You’re also grounded, supported. Rooted. You know the rules, don’t you? But when you come over here, alone, maybe running from something, it’s easy to start fucking drifting, and very hard to stop.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Drifting?”

“Sort of. But I’ve narrowed down the area. I’ve found I like snow. And dogs.”

Tommy chuckles and sips his drink. 

“You can’t drift around Klondike for the rest of your life” he says. 

“Why not?”

“Don’t you have ambitions? Dreams?”

“I did. But then I found myself dreaming more and more about peace and quiet. And...fucking voila!”

He gestures at the silence and stillness of the frozen night. Tommy seems to think it over. 

“I wasn’t an outdoorsy man in my past life” Alfie says. “Or maybe I was, as a child, only there aren’t many fucking occasions to try it out when you grow up poor in London, right? So I sort of forgot it. And then I came here, and...remembered.”

Tommy looks at him as if he doesn’t quite believe him.

“I know this is extreme” Alfie explains. “And it certainly took some getting used to just trying to survive in this climate. But once I learned to live here, strangely enough it was much more satisfying than I thought it would be.” 

“I wish I could settle for something like that” Tommy says, and his usually guarded manner gives way to open longing. “Snow and dogs. But I can’t. I’ve got…”

“... a huge chip on your shoulder?”

Tommy laughs. The whiskey seems to relax him, if ever so slightly, and his eyes shine in the light from the fire. He’s so pretty Alfie can barely keep from reaching out a hand to touch him. 

“I was going to say ambitions.”

“It’s all the same” Alfie says. “Proving you’re better than everyone told you? Winning over the other gutter scum, making some money so you can wear a nice suit and never go hungry again?”

Tommy is quiet for a long while. Just as he opens his mouth to answer, they hear the wolves again, and this time it sounds like they’re right outside the cabin. Alfie feels the hair on his back stand up. He and Tommy look at each other. 

“We have to get the dogs inside!” Alfie says and rushes to his feet. “Get the guns.”

Tommy gets up too, carefully puts the bottle away in the only cupboard and then hurries to get his guns out. 

“Can they smell the bodies?” he asks. “Even though they’re frozen?”

“I doubt there’s anything a hungry wolf can’t do.”

Alfie goes outside, gun in one hand, and gathers up all the dogs, herding them inside. He can’t see the wolves, but that means nothing. It’s pitch black outside. He closes the door carefully and curses himself for being such an idiot. He should have burned the bodies, not just left them there like a buffet for the wolves right outside his fucking doorstep. 


	5. Chapter 5

They try to sleep, but both lie awake listening to the wolves outside and the nervous dogs inside. Everly snarl, every snap of twig (or bone?), every noise at all really, is amplified in Alfie’s mind and his imagination fills in what he can’t see (wolf teeth pulling at human flesh, unravelling intestine, human features chewed beyond recognition). He wants to go out and shoot them, but he’s too scared. The night is too dark and cold, and the wolves are too powerful, too… competent. Even with Tommy’s help they would kill him long before he could kill enough of them. So he huddles here, locked in terror, grateful for the protection of walls. 

“What are you so upset about?” Tommy asks suddenly and makes Alfie jumps. 

“I’m not upset, mate” Alfie says, but he can hear how tense his voice sounds and he feels stupid. 

“The wolves can’t get us in here, we’re safe” Tommy says. “They’ll finish eating and then they’ll go.”

“It’s not that. It’s the thought of... what they’re  _ doing _ . It makes me sick.”

“It’s just garbage disposal” Tommy says, and his voice sounds unusually kind. “They’re getting rid of the bodies for us.”

“It doesn’t disturb you? Animals eating people right outside our wall?”

Tommy thinks for a moment. 

“No” he says. “It’s just nature. You eat animals, what’s the difference?”

Alfie opens his mouth to deliver a lecture on the sanctity of man, of souls and respect and dignity and integrity, but what’s the point? Tommy isn’t going to understand. And maybe he’s right. Maybe out here he’s nothing but living meat walking around, waiting to eat or be eaten. He’d like to think that the struggle to survive here is bigger than that, somehow noble. A testament to the strength and resilience of man. But perhaps it isn’t. 

“I didn’t expect you to be so squeamish” Tommy says, still in a gentle voice while he could just as well have been scornful. “The wilderness man… and the wolves didn’t even kill those men, you did. We did.”

“I know. I just… I don’t know.”

“Yeah. I know.”

 

Eventually the grisly sounds from outside - imagined or not - subside and Alfie drifts off to sleep. His dreams are violent and confused, about God and death and teeth dripping with blood. Something wakes him up and he gasps, frozen in terror. 

“You  had a nightmare” Tommy says next to him, and Alfie realizes he’s the one who woke him up. “It’s all right.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine” Alfie says, struggling to drag his mind out of the nightmare and into the real world. It’s still dark outside but there’s light from the fire burning merrily in the stove. “No problem, mate.”

“The wolves are gone. I looked. But it’s snowing a lot.”

“You’ve been outside?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmares?”

No answer. 

“What was it like, outside?”

“Picked clean” Tommy says. “And the snow will cover everything now. Come spring someone might find some bone, never know what happened here.”

Alfie nods and gets up. Tommy has let the dogs outside again but the little cabin still reeks of them and the air is damp and stuffy. Tommy has already put the coffee on, so Alfie fills a pot with water and grains for the porridge and then steps outside for a piss and a breath of fresh air. 

Tommy wasn’t exaggerating the snow. It’s coming down in big heavy flakes, blanketing the world in more white. It feels like a relief that what’s left of the corpses are being hidden underneath it, like a kind of natural funeral. But it’s also worrying, because they can’t travel in this weather. The wind is picking up and despite the early dawn light he can’t see more than a few feet in front of him. He drags the sleigh closer to the wall to try and protect it from being buried in snow, or at least make it easier to find it when it is. 

He goes back inside and has coffee and porridge with Tommy in companionable silence. By the time they finish, the wind has increased and the little cabin is rattling in it. Outside the window is full daylight and everything is white. 

“Looks like we’re staying another day” Tommy says after trying to look out the window and failing to see anything.

“Yes.”

Silence. Alfie wants to talk. He so rarely has the chance, and Tommy makes him weak in the knees, which is even more rare. Soon enough he’ll be gone and Alfie will be alone with his dogs again, for better or worse. But it’s hard to find anything to say. Tommy gets his bottle out. It’s almost empty. Alfie looks around for something to do, to make use of the extra day indoors. He scratches his head, and that makes him think. 

“I’m going to have a bath” he announces. “And wash my clothes.”

Tommy looks at him. 

“I’m indoors, mate, there’s a fire, it’s nice and warm and nowhere to go. We can even heat water. Who knows when that will happen again? God knows it’s been long enough.”

Tommy doesn’t answer but as Alfie grabs the biggest pot and heads for the door he can see out of the corner of his eye Tommy trying to smell himself and pull a hand through his greasy hair. 

“I could do with a shave, I suppose” he says. 

Alfie struggles to hold the door in the strong wind, and gets his face full of snow during the few seconds it takes to fill the pot with snow. He carefully closes the door again - the lock and one of the hinges is broken after they broken in the first day - and puts the post it on the stove. The snow melts quickly. He empties it into a bucket and fills it again. They gather all the containers they can find that will hold water, and slowly fill them with varying degrees of hot and tepid water. Every time they open the door, the wind and the snow seem to have picked up a bit more.

Tommy watches Alfie undress, and then starts to unbutton his shirt too.

“Might as well wash these” he mutters. 

They undertake their cleansing in awkward silence, shyly stripping off their clothes and soaking them in buckets with soap. The water goes a dark greyish brown immediately, and they have to pour it out and fill up with new water and new soap. They leave the clothes to soak and go to work on themselves, shaving and scrubbing with rags and soap, taking breaks now and then to wait for more water to heat up. Outside the door it’s easy to see exactly where they’ve thrown out the water; there’s a big ragged hole melted into a snowdrift, with dark edges from all the dirt. It makes Alfie nauseous to look at it. 

While their clothes are being cleaned they cover themselves with blankets, but it’s not hard to get peeks of Tommy’s body. He must have been an impressive man once, you can see it in how he still holds himself with pride and dignity, head always held high. But he’s desperately skinny and his body looks worn and well used. Just as Alfie’s does. Klondike isn’t the place if you want to maintain your youth and beauty. Still, with his newly shaved face and washed hair, Tommy is even more beautiful than before. 

“Too bad there’s no barber” Alfie says and tugs at his beard. “This could need a trim, not to mention the hair…There’s not even one in Robinson.”

Tommy smiles. 

“Here, sit down. I’ll do it.”

Tommy takes the razor and gestures at one of the chairs. Alfie looks at him in surprise. Tommy bows ironically to show how happy he is to serve. 

“The barbershop is open” he says, and the unexpected humor and kindness takes Alfie with enough surprise to make him sit down, although with reservations.

“How much do you want me to take?” Tommy says and gently touches Alfie’s beard. 

Alfie’s breath catches, and he tries to behave normal. 

“Just trim it. I don’t want to shave, it keeps me warm.”

“Fine.”

Tommy gets to work, slowly and carefully trimming his beard back at least an inch. When he’s finished he continues with his hair, cropping it gently around the sides and back. Alfie is struggling to breathe, hovering between arousal and the fear of having his throat cut any minute. He wouldn’t put it past Tommy to take the opportunity and then make off with Alfie’s stuff again, but having him this close, his face with its focused look right next to his own, makes it worth it. He’s hyper-aware of every time Tommy’s fingers brush against his skin, and he’s hoping the blanket he’s wearing won’t slide off to reveal his hard-on. 

When Tommy finishes, Alfie feels strange and naked, but like a new man. 

“How do I look?” he asks and stands up. 

Tommy holds his little shaving mirror up for Alfie to inspect the results. 

“You look less like a caveman” he says. 

“Thanks, mate” Alfie says with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Very kind of you.”

It looks pretty good. Tommy is no barber, and it shows. The cut is uneven, but it’s better than before. 

He puts the mirror down on the table and looks at Tommy to thank him properly, but before he has a chance to do so, Tommy gives him a strange look and then kisses him. Despite Alfie’s lust it comes as a total surprise, and he doesn’t know what to do at first. Tommy pulls away, his face in turmoil, and Alfie realizes this will go bad really fast if he doesn’t do something to keep it on track. So he takes Tommy’s face between his hands and kisses him. Tommy smells like soap and man and dog and the dirty blanket he’s wearing, and it’s wonderful. Alfie’s body goes up in flame, suddenly remembering what intimacy with another human being feels like and wanting more of it. Now.

It runs surprisingly smoothly from there. There’s no talking, no eye contact, no giving each other a chance to realize what they’re doing and put a stop to it, they just go with the flow. Their blankets drop to the floor and reveal naked bodies, marked by hardship but strong and mostly clean. They hold each other while kissing, enjoying the feeling of skin on skin, like finally getting water after a long walk in the desert. Or human warmth after months in the snow, if you like. The cabin is almost completely quiet, the only sounds are the kisses, the soft crackling from the fire and the wind outside. 

Alfie feels Tommy’s hands slide down his back and grab his butt, and he hears himself moan with pleasure and anticipation. They press together, dicks pressing against each other. Alfie kisses Tommy’s beautiful face and caresses his shoulders and back. When Tommy takes his dick in a strong, hot hand Alfie feels like he might die. They move to the bed, which isn’t more than a step away in the cramped cabin, and sit down. Tommy is slowly rubbing, and Alfie is gasping for breath. 

“I...I won’t last long” he wheezes. “It’s been too long…”

“Don’t complicate it” Tommy whispers. “I’ll do you, and then you do me.”

“Yes. Yes, that is a… a deal.”

He sits back and closes his eyes, letting his whole body fill with the pleasure. Why is pleasuring himself never this good? You’d think one hand would be the same as another, but this is heaven. Tommy strokes him rhythmically. There’s no hesitation; he’s done this before. It doesn’t take long for Alfie to come, and as wonderful as it is, he’s a little sad that it’s already over. 

As soon as the wave of pleasure passes he turns to Tommy and gets to work on his hard-on. After a few first strokes he changes his mind and goes down on his knees on the floor. Tommy starts to say something, maybe to stop him - does this qualify as complicating it? - but Alfie takes him in his mouth and whatever Tommy wanted to say is lost in a whimper. Alfie glances up at him as best he can. The look on Tommy’s face, eyes closed and head leaned back, is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

Afterwards they lie on the bed in silence. Finally Alfie says: 

“That wasn’t your first time.”

“It wasn’t” Tommy agrees. “Neither was it yours. And that’s all the discussion we’re going to have on the subject.”

“Fine.”

More silence. It’s a strange sort of silence. Friendly in a way, pleased and satisfied, but also insecure, wondering. The cabin is creaking from the storm outside. 

“Now what?” Alfie says finally.

“We should hang the clothes to dry” Tommy says. 

“Right.”

So they do. 


	6. Chapter 6

They hang ropes in a complicated system from the ceiling, and hang their clothes to try from them. It fills most of the cabin. They see to the dogs, cook dinner and eat it while the afternoon light outside starts to fade, do the after-dinner clean up, and then there isn’t much else to do. Except turn to each other again. Tommy’s bottle is empty, and Alfie wonders if that might have something to do with his hunger for intimacy. It doesn’t matter, it’s still just as enjoyable. 

They spend the evening in bed, naked and wonderfully hot under shared blankets, quietly exploring each others’ bodies. Despite the panting lust there’s a strange peace in the cabin. There are no worries, no guilt and no shame, since no one will ever know. No risk of being caught or disturbed. In fact, Alfie can’t think of a single sexual encounter he’s ever had that’s been this peaceful and private, this much in a world of their own. This safe. He doesn’t know how he really feels about Tommy - who can know for sure, considering what he’s like - but right here and now Alfie loves him. Loves his body, his hot soft skin, the gentle scrape of stubble on his face, the smell of his hair. His eyes, so big and open and so guarded and distanced at the same time. His hands exploring him and teasing out pleasure he wasn’t sure was possible outside of his fantasies. 

There’s hardly any talking. What’s to say, except to mumble simple instructions, like:

“Faster”

“Too hard”

“No, not there”

“Like this”

“Yes”

Alfie gives in completely and lets Tommy finger him, caress him and stroke him. There’s no need for pretence or tough facades, they’re exposed to each other, isolated together. It feels like they’re going on forever, eager touch on hard dicks. Alfie comes in Tommy’s hand, in his mouth, in his ass, and Tommy in his. Alfie loves watching him come. To see that eerily pretty face and huge blue eyes start to fill with pleasure, slowly at first, lips parting, panting, then grow focused into his own body when the climax is close, and finally the release, when he tips his head back, eyes closed and face relaxed. Alfie wants to see it again and again, and as the evening turns into night, he does. The only thing Tommy won’t let him do is kiss him on the mouth, but there are so many other things you can do with your mouth. 

They fall asleep eventually and wake up just before dawn. It seems unusually quiet, and it takes a while before Alfie realizes what it is - the storm has passed. He feels unusually fresh and rested, but also a little sore. It’s been a long time since he had sex at all, and much longer since he had sex like  _ that _ . They tend to their morning chores in silence, and then sit down to eat breakfast. 

“Looks like we’ll be able to leave today” Alfie says conversationally. 

He’s been out to check the dogs, and it’s stopped snowing. It’s going to be hard work getting out of here with all the snow that came during the storm, but it’s definitely doable. 

“Good” Tommy says. 

As they pack their things and get ready to leave he feels torn about leaving the cabin. He wishes they could repeat their night together, feels himself start to get hard just thinking about it, but at the same time he’s eager to get out of the claustrophobic little house. He’s had enough of it, he wants sky and snow and fresh air and open spaces. Movement. And as much as he appreciates certain sides of Tommy, he also longs to be alone. Tommy’s presence can be a bit much. He’s not a man you have a happy future with, that much is obvious. He’s the kind that leads to pain and danger, as Alfie has already experienced and would rather not experience again. A shame on such a beautiful man and skilled lover, but there it is. 

They dig the sleigh out of the snow, put the dogs in their harnesses and then head off. It’s halfway through morning when they pass the site of the enemy sleigh, now entirely covered under a snow drift, and head out to the river. Alfie is walking in snowshoes ahead of the dogs, since the new snow is up over the dogs’ heads and someone needs to ease their way. Tommy is walking in the rear, behind the sleigh, but they will switch places during the day. The dogs are struggling in the deep snow, despite Alfie’s help, and they make slow progress, but by nightfall they reach the little group of ramshackle buildings known as Robinson. It’s not much, as civilization goes, but it’s still a shock after so much time alone in the wilderness and then the cabin with Tommy. There are people, horses and dogs in the streets, and they can hear music and voices from the saloon. Somewhere someone is building or fixing something, and the sounds of a hammer ring out through the evening. Alfie wants to go back out into the wilderness, but forces himself to take a deep breath and step into society at least briefly. 

Tommy heads for the saloon, and Alfie has his dogs and sleigh installed at the livery - up here dogs are much more common than horses anyway - and goes to the general store to find a buyer for his spare dogs. His plan was to leave word with the owner and let him spread it, but there is a group of three prospectors in the store when he comes in, and when they hear he has dogs for sale it turns out to be easy business. They walk back to the livery with him and inspect the dogs, and then hand over the cash. He takes the money and considers going back to the store right away to order provisions for tomorrow. He’s tired and doesn’t want to, he’d much rather go to the saloon and find Tommy, and then a hot meal and a bed. But you never know with small town stores; if another group of prospectors come by they could easily clean out the shelves, and then there’s nothing left for him, so he goes back to the store and places, and pays for, his order to be picked up tomorrow morning. 

When he arrives at the saloon Tommy is sitting at the bar with a glass of whiskey, probably not his first, and looking unusually peaceful. 

“How did it go?” he asks as Alfie sits down next to him and orders a small glass of rum. 

“Not bad.”

Tommy nods. Silence. They sip their drinks and listen to someone playing the piano quite badly. To be fair the piano is probably about as bad as the player, having barely survived the journey here. 

“Let me treat you to dinner” Alfie says. 

“All right.”

They go to the diner next door. The food isn’t great, but it’s nice to not have to cook it himself. They chat about this and that for a while and then they’re joined by a very young prospector who is fishing for donations to fund his search for gold. When he doesn’t get any, he tries to get tips about where the best places might be to look. 

“Any secret mother lodes you might want to share?” he asks, and desperation shines through his grinning, eager face. 

Alfie feels sorry for him, but there are limits to how naive you get to be. 

“You know, mate…” he says. “I normally wouldn’t give away my secrets, but you look like you need it… And to be frank, there was so much gold there I couldn’t carry it all back myself anyway. Here’s how you find it..”

He gives the young man a description, and he eats it all up with gleaming eyes. 

“Wow, thank you mister, that’s very kind of you!”

“No problem, son. Now, I’d like to finish my conversation with my friend here.”

“Or course, of course! Thank you!”

He leaves and Tommy looks at Alfie. 

“Where does that description actually lead?” he asks. 

“Bear cave. Almost stumbled on it and got myself killed. Poor thing. Let me tell you, bears  _ do not  _ like to be disturbed!”

Tommy laughs. Actually laughs out loud, and Alfie feels a cloud of butterflies take off in his stomach. 

“Would you like to share a room for the night?” he asks. 

Tommy looks at him and smiles. 

“Yes” he says. “One more night before I have to return to the real world.”

“And I go back to the snow and the dogs.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“You could come with me” Tommy says, almost casually. 

“To the real world? No, I’m not done here. Haven’t found the mother lode yet.” He grins. “You could come with me.”

“I’ve had enough of snow. I’m going to a city. I hear Toronto is nice this time of year.”

They talk about their plans and hopes, casually as if the impending separation doesn’t hurt at all, as if there’s not a heavy melancholy in the air that they’re trying to pretend doesn’t exist. Alfie buys a bottle of whiskey and tells Tommy to keep it, for the road. Then they rent a room upstairs and go to bed. 

 

When Alfie wakes up the next morning, even more sore now, Tommy is gone. Alfie sits up in bed and looks around. Tommy’s things are gone too, including the bottle of whiskey Alfie bought for him last night. Looking around the room, it’s as if he was never there at all, but his smell is on the sheets and his body is vivid in Alfie’s memory. 

“Well, don’t act fucking surprised” Alfie says to Eddie. “It’s just like him, innit?”

Eddie looks at him and wags his tail. 

“Just you and me again, mate” Alfie says and gets out of bed. 

He feels sad, but it’s a sadness he can live with. He gets dressed, thinking he should buy a new shirt before he goes out again. He goes downstairs for breakfast, and when he takes his purse out to pay for it, he realizes it’s shockingly empty. Not entirely empty, there are a few coins there, and a note. He pulls it out and reads it:

 

Sorry, and thank you.

Tommy

 

“The cheating bastard! He robbed me! Again!”

The other guests in the little diner look at him, and he makes an apologetic gesture and looks at the note again. He can’t believe it, after everything they’ve been through. He pays for his breakfast - there’s still enough money although the vast majority is gone - and leaves with Eddie by his side. 

“Will you believe him?” he complains to the dog. “The nerve!”

He reads the note a third time and then tries to think back to the night before. Did he tell Tommy he had already bought his provisions? If he hadn’t, would Tommy had left him enough money to buy what he needs? Well, he’ll never know now. 

He walks to the general store and picks up his order, then gets his dogs and sleigh and starts to pack. By the time he’s ready to leave, his anger has dissipated slightly, and when he gets in the sleigh and shouts at the dogs to set off, he can almost laugh at the whole matter. 

Almost. 

 

The fucking bastard.  


End file.
